like hawks and eagles, whose backs one seldom see because most of the time, they hover above you. i was born in a hut. i lived there with seven brothers and sisters and a pig, out there in the grey fields where never a tree grew. but from the window, i could see the wall of his lordship's park with apple trees growing above it. it was a garden of paradise. and there stood many evil angels with flaming swords to guard it. but despite them, i and other boys found a way into the tree of life. ah, you despise me now? oh, i suppose all small boys steal apples. oh, yeah, you can say that, but you despise me. however, one day, i went in there with my mother to weed the onion beds. on one side of the garden, there was a turkish pavilion under the shadow jasmine trees, covered in honey suckle. i've never seen such a building. what could it be for? people went in and came out again. and then one day, the door was left open and i crept in. i saw the walls hung with pictures of kings and emperors. and there were red curtains at the windows with tassels. ah, now you understand, it was the lava